


A Study in Distress

by Xov



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Case Fic, College Age AU, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Light-Hearted, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, non metaverse au, oblivious akechi, oblivious protag, protag went to akechi's high school instead of shujin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 03:37:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16032179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xov/pseuds/Xov
Summary: In an attempt to get rid of a long standing crush, Akira avoids his best friend for a month to no avail. Akechi Goro does not take to the idea very well and resorts to petty methods to force Akira to hang out with him -like insisting he needs help on a boring case involving a string of thefts he never had any intention of looking into.





	A Study in Distress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dawnmarionette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnmarionette/gifts).



> This was supposed to be much, much shorter but the intro ran longer than I planned and then so did everything else because I have no self control. Enjoy!

The destruction of Akira’s dreams is wrought by the single sharp rap of knuckles to the back of his head and the heavy _thunk_ of a briefcase being unceremoniously dropped to the floor.

Akira’s eyes peel open and he blinks once – twice – _three times_ before recognizing the familiar coffee stain on the wall in the attic above Café Leblanc. The wall beside the bed he occupies on a nightly basis, to be exact. A throat clears behind him in the very specific way that clues Akira in on the fact that he’s about to be in trouble. He may or may not be familiar with the sound.

Okay, fine. He’s familiar with it.

His attempt to hide beneath his sheets is foiled by his own body, inconveniently positioned directly over them.

After a few deliberately noisy footsteps someone drops themselves on the couch, the old leather cushion whining with a long wheeze of air, begging to be put out of its misery. Akira can relate – and indeed shares the same source of misery: The guy sitting on the couch.

He covers his head with a pillow and hopes he goes away.

“After a month of not seeing each other, this is the welcome I get?” Akechi Goro asks pleasantly. The tone is pleasant, anyways. If looks could kill – well, Akira can’t actually see him to verify, but he’s almost sure he’d be dead as soon as he did. So, he’ll just not.

“It hasn’t been a month.” Akira says, voice coarse with sleep. And muffled by the pillow. He’s not even sure he said it out loud, if he’s being perfectly honest.

And it has, in fact, been a month. A very long month that Akira has spent wrapped up in job after job, hoarding as much spare change as he can.

“It has, in fact, been a month.” Akechi says, perfectly echoing his thoughts. Akira hates him. “A long month. A long month in which I really could have benefited from having my best friend around – or at the very least have him _return my messages_.”

Akira really wishes he could hate him, because suffering from exactly the opposite was a tragedy he’d never doom anyone to, least of all himself.

But, alas –

“I’ve been returning your messages.” Akira nitpicks, still safely hidden under his lumpy pillow that smells vaguely of mildew and coffee.

He can’t see Akechi, but he can sure feel the buzz of disbelief at Akira’s audacity stirring the air like a snapped powerline going haywire above a flooded intersection.

“I’m sorry, but _emojis_ aren’t something I consider a proper reply.”

“Someone needs to catch up with the 21st century.”

Akira’s pillow is ripped from his face and thrown across the room and he ends up doing exactly what he was planning _not_ to do and looks at Akechi’s face. His expression lingers somewhere between an aggressive but questionable ‘ _I am a_ NICE _human’_ and a _‘I’m going to throw you out the window and leave your dead body in the gutter’_.

It’s frustratingly attractive and Akira spends a moment wishing that he had normal kinks.

Akechi continues to glare down at him.

Akira often has dreams that start off this way.  

He coughs into his hand as he sits up, his state of undress not lost on himself.

“Can I put on some clothes?” Akira asks through a sigh, the pins and needles that have replaced Akechi’s glare getting sharper by the second.

“Be my guest.” Akechi says, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to one leg, and generally being as helpful as the knowledge that toilets flush in the key of E flat. Which is to say – not very much at all.

Akechi doesn’t move.

Akira frowns.

Akechi raises a brow.

Akira rubs his eyes to hide the eyeroll and scoots down his bed to get around the Akechi blockade, tugging down his underwear when it rides up his leg. His TV woefully sings the sad melody of a Game Over screen as it pans over his character’s mutilated corpse, the distorted piano warbling in what Akira knows is thinly veiled mockery. He turns it off before Akechi gets any ideas.

“What time is it?” Akira asks, looking for a clean shirt.

“A quarter to seven. In the evening, in the likely case you were unsure.”

Akira groans. “My shift starts soon.”

“You’ve been working at a bar in Shinjuku on Wednesday nights recently, haven’t you?” Akechi asks.

Akira doesn’t waste time wondering how he knows that. He’s been conditioned to accept these things. “Yep.”

“Good. I could use a drink.”

Akira trips over the pants he was attempting to put on. “What?”

“If I’m a paying customer, that dictates that you’ll have a professional obligation to listen to me and pretend you care.”

Akira holds his breath before he falls for the bait. Not that it’ll stop Akechi. When Akechi gets bitchy, he’ll say anything.

“Goro, you don’t drink.” Akira reminds. Sojiro gifted him a fancy bottle of wine on his twentieth birthday and despite all of Akira’s attempts to get him to crack it open, it remains an overpriced decorative piece on his kitchen counter.

“I’m beginning to see the appeal.” Akechi says, tossing Akira a shirt.

 

 

The bar is dead, not surprising for a Wednesday night, but even the most regular of regulars seem to have found alternative poisons that evening.

Akechi sits at the counter, impossible to ignore and positioned precisely where the lighting would flatter him best. He doesn’t nurse his alcohol like he does his coffee – instead slamming it back and then slamming it down, wiping his mouth with a grimace while gesturing for yet another refill.

“Goro –”

“Shut up.” Akechi says, pushing his glass out. Akira shuts up and wonders if maybe something worse than him being a shitty friend happened. “I’m not drunk yet.” He shoves his glass out further. Akira takes it and sets it out of reach. Lala watches the two of them out of the corner of her eye, whether out of concern or in amusement, Akira’s unsure.

“You will be soon.” Akira promises. “You’re drinking way too fast, especially for your first time.”

Akechi clicks his tongue but doesn’t press. Akira lets out a breath.

“Goro –” Akira tries again.

“Sojiro tells me you’re planning on moving out of Leblanc soon. And that you’ve been looking for a roommate. Is that why you’ve been working so much lately?” Akechi says, planting the minefield before he’s even pink in the face.

“Yeah. I kind of miss having a door. And a shower. And, you know – privacy. Yeah. Privacy in general. I miss that. I don’t know how many bugs Futaba has planted in the café, but I doubt they’re limited to just downstairs.” He peeks at his phone, half expecting a not so anonymous message.

Akechi lets out a winded laugh as he slumps over the counter. He runs a finger along the collar of his button-up.

Two of the buttons are undone. He is not wearing a tie today. His collarbone is very visible. None of these things should be alarming and yet Akira is very alarmed.

 _Maybe_ alarmed isn’t the right word.

“You could just move in with me. I’m offended you didn’t ask in the first place.” He says, undoing another button.

No, alarmed is definitely the correct word.

“I want my own room.” Akira finds a coin on the counter and rolls it over his fingers before his eyes linger too long in places they shouldn’t. “So, unless you’re willing to give up your room and sleep on the couch forever…”

Akechi’s response is a tilt of the head and a low hum from the back of his throat. A lock of brown hair escapes from behind his ear, curling up under his cheekbone. His eyes burn red and dark in the lowlight of the bar, and Akira suddenly feels like _he’s_ the one already far, _far_ along the road to getting shitfaced.

“I miss high school.” Akechi says, sinking further on the counter like a gummy bear left out in the sun.

“I don’t.” Akira says, smiling thinly. “All people did was spread rumors about things they didn’t understand.”

“People still do that.” Akechi drops his eyes to the counter, the line of his lips curling down. “But at least I got to see you every day.”

Akira looks everywhere that isn’t Akechi – the single forgotten shoe under one of the booths, the security camera recording them, immortalizing this horrific moment. “I thought you were trying to get me kicked out when we met.”

Akechi snorts. “I was trying to figure out how you got accepted to my school with a criminal record. _I_ barely got in and _I_ aced the entrance exams. I thought maybe your parents bribed or blackmailed the principal.”

Akira shrugs. “I don’t even know how.”

“The principal felt bad for you.” Akechi reveals, eyelashes brushing his cheek as they flutter shut. “She had a background in law and could tell that something was off about your arrest. I asked her.”

“Oh.” Akira says. He wonders if he should send her a thank you card. Maybe try and milk any pity that might be left over and ask for a letter of recommendation. “And after you figured that out I guess you stuck around for my stellar personality?”

Akechi laughs and cracks an eye open. “I stuck around because Leblanc’s coffee is addictive. And I guess you grew on me after a while.”

“Like mold?”

“Black mold.” Akechi mutters.

“I’m honored by such high praise.” Akira bows with flourish.

Akechi shakes his head and somehow droops further on the counter. “Give me another drink.” He says, miserably reaching out for the glass Akira took away from him.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Akira pushing it down a bit further, just in case. “You’ll thank me in the morning, I promise.”

“It’s hard to thank someone who isn’t there.” Akechi twists the blade already firmly lodged in Akira’s gut.

Akira wishes he’d just pull it out already and leave him to bleed out in peace.

“Look, I’ve –”

Two new customers barge in, already red-faced and probably fresh from having been kicked out of the last bar they were touring. Akira grits his teeth when the women stumble over and take the seats next to Akechi, giggling out what was presumedly their drinks of choice.

Akechi’s eyes remain firmly rooted to Akira’s face, recording his reactions for further analysis.

“I’ve got this, hon. Take care of your friend.” Lala saves Akira with a wink. “I can help you over on this side, ladies. My boy there has his hands full tonight.”

Akira hopes that isn’t innuendo.

“Ooh.” The girl next to Akechi says, not _as_ drunk as Akira initially assumed. Her friend’s face is pressed against her leather-clad shoulder, obscured by a crooked hat and several loose curls of light brown hair, a small smile on her lips as the occasional bubble of laughter slips through. “Sorry to interrupt.” She says, looping her arm around her friend’s waist and hobbling a few more chairs down. “It’s her birthday today and some man was trying to get handsy where we were drinking earlier.”

“And then Mako-chan laid him out flat!” The friend says, falling face first into ‘Mako-chan’s’ lap while punching her hand up in the air with another giggle.

“I didn’t.” Mako-chan asserts, fixing the braid in her hair. “And I’m sorry, she’s only had two drinks, but it turns out she’s a bit of a lightweight. Could we get two arginades?”

“I’d also like to request two bottles of your _finest wine_.”

“Just the two arginades, please.”

“Two arginades it is.” Lala grins. “Maybe once you’ve sobered up a little, you can browse through our selection of wines. And don’t worry about anyone getting handsy while you’re here –”  

The sharp click of glass on lacquered wood brings Akira’s attention back to the reason why he’s been woefully single since his second year of high school. Akechi tips the mouth of his cup in Akira’s direction in an unspoken demand.

“Fine.” Akira says, snatching it out of his hands. “Not only are you going to regret this tomorrow, but I’m going to be there to rub it in your face.”

Not even half an hour later, Akira’s the one toting his drunk friend through the crowds of Shinjuku to the station.

“You are so lucky my boss is amazing.” Akira mutters when Akechi steps on his foot for the fifth time in thirty seconds. Akechi’s head lolls on and off Akira’s shoulder in a way that _has_ to be giving him whiplash. “I swear to – if you puke on me, you’re buying me a whole new wardrobe.”

Akechi seems to think that’s hilarious, shifting closer to laugh into the crook of Akira’s neck, the hand that had a death grip on Akira’s other shoulder falling to his waist.

Akira shivers.  

“You should drink, too.” Akechi says, his breath warm against Akira’s neck. At least he’s still coherent, if not particularly coordinated.

“I’m nineteen.”

“Since when do _you_ care about _laws_?” Akechi scoffs and then says, “There’s wine at my apartment. You should drink it.”

“The whole bottle?” Akira muses.

“Mm. No fun being drunk alone.”

The hand slips from the small of Akira’s back to his ass.

“Okay, _wow_ , you’re wasted.” Akira’s says, his voice reaching a pitch he didn’t know it was capable of, quickly repositioning Akechi’s arm around his shoulder and holding it there.

“Well, you’re dumb.” Is Akechi’s affronted retort.

“ _I’m_ dumb?” Akira laughs.

“Yes.”

“ _You’re_ dumb.”

“You’re _stupid_.”

“Your insult game isn’t very strong right now, hate to break it to you.”

“An _idiot._ ”

“I really don’t think you’re cut out to be an alcoholic.”

“A dumb, stupid, _idiot_.”

“At least now I don’t have to wonder what you were like in elementary school.”

“I wish we were friends in elementary school.” Akechi says, forgetting his quest to discover the most scathing insult a five-year-old would be capable of. “I didn’t have friends until I met you. Didn’t have _anyone_.”

Akira’s mouth shuts with a neat click as he maneuvers Akechi around a sign he seems to be fiercely adamant about walking them both into.

“You can continue confessing your love for me when we’re not in danger of tripping over a pothole, okay?”

“I _will_.” Akechi agrees like he’s declaring World War 3, arms flapping vigorously for emphasis like a flag in a hurricane.

Akira can dream. And he does dream. Quite often. _Too_ often.

He needs help. Preferably of the professional variety.

What a shame that costs money.

Akechi dozes off on the train, and the pictures Akira gets _almost_ make up for what is going to be a lackluster paycheck.

 

 

Akira wakes up the next morning when an arm smacks him square on the nose, and a hand squashes his face into the mattress in the least sexy way possible. He sits up in time to see Akechi scrambling for the bathroom.

Akechi trudges into the kitchen about forty minutes later, managing to look human after expelling whatever was in his stomach and an extended shower. Akira flips an egg over in a frying pan while Akechi gives a dead stare to the once-full bottle of wine sitting on the counter, drops of water falling from his hair onto the floor.

“Why were you sleeping in my bed.” Akechi’s question comes out flatter than a tone-deaf pizza. Akira wags his eyebrows and flips over another egg.

Akira’s lack of answer seems to genuinely worry him, so he decides to let him off easy. This time. “After shoving wine in my face and spilling half the bottle on the carpet,” Akira pauses to point at the sizeable stain under Akechi’s feet. “You decided you wanted to go to sleep, but you also had me in a death grip, sooo...” He trails off.

Akechi groans and levies himself over the side of the couch, out of view. “I’m never drinking again.”

“That’s what they all say.”

“It was disgusting. How do people enjoy the taste of alcohol?”

“Because they like getting drunk. How are you feeling?” Akira asks. He can only see Akechi’s feet propped up on the armrest.

“Fine now, actually. No hangover. Just hungry and a little tired.”

“Huh. Guess I should have let you drink more last night after all.” Akira mumbles.

“What?”

“I said I have some eggs and toast ready. Coffee, too.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“So.” Akira says after handing him a plate. Akechi gives him a look like he knows what’s coming and would rather just _not_. “Do you want to talk about it?” He takes a seat across from Akechi at the table, setting down a steaming mug for each of them.

“No.” Akechi stabs an egg, the yolk breaking free over his toast.  

“Too bad. Start talking or I’ll put your phone number up on all of your fan pages.” He takes a bite of toast. “Again.”

Akechi kicks his shin. “I _knew_ that was you, you shithead.” He growls, the bags under his eyes adding a little extra bite. Akira laughs and slides his chair back when Akechi tries to stomp his feet. “You’re the one running the twitter account that does nothing but post hideous pictures of me too, aren’t you?”

“No, but whoever that person is – they’re my hero.”

It’s Futaba.

“If you keep retweeting those pictures, I _will_ block you.”

“How many times have you blocked me? It has to be at least ten times.”

“I won’t unblock you this time.” Akechi threatens, but the smile that creeps around the corner of his mouth ruins it.

Akira contemplates it before shrugging. “If you tell me what’s going on, I’ll think about it.”  

Akechi brushes back a drying strand of hair before sighing and slumping back in his chair, bringing his plate with him. He takes a minute to weigh his options in between bites. “It’s been a bad month with school and work.” He finally says. “I’ve gotten used to having you around to talk things out with, but you disappeared. So, I…” Akira wonders if guilt trips are a necessary breakfast routine with Akechi. Akechi tears off a piece of his toast with his teeth. “I keep getting assigned the most tedious cases that are more paperwork than detective work – and then there’s this big case I’ve been working.” He says through a mouthful, his eyes already clouding over as his thoughts take him somewhere else.

“The missing persons case, right?” Akira asks when Akechi zones out, even the toast in his mouth going unchewed.

Akechi snaps out of it, swallows by accident, and grimaces in pain as unchewed bread forces its way down his throat. His eyes narrow at the last piece in his hand. “Yes.” He says, gingerly setting it down and grabbing his coffee. “Okumura Haru. She’s been missing for a little over three months now.”

“Okumura… Like _Okumura_ Okumura? The _Okumura Foods_ Okumura?” Akira sputters, his elbow clanging painfully against the table.

“His daughter – but yes, _that_ Okumura.” Akechi confirms.

“It’s weird I haven’t heard anything about it. Someone that high profile going missing would usually be all over the news.” Akira says.

“They’re keeping it quiet. She’s supposed to be getting married this month.” Akechi elaborates, his eyes scanning through something that didn’t exist in a reality that Akira was privy to. “An arranged marriage, I should clarify.”

Akira’s a little out of practice when it comes to even the most basic of deductions, but after a moment, it clicks. “She ran away, didn’t she?”

“And she most certainly does not want to be found.” Akechi mumbles into his cup.

“Good. Let her be free.”

Akechi’s smile is pinched. “I think you’re misinterpreting my intentions. I’m not working for her father. She has valuable information that can help me – and by using that same information, I can help _her_. But it does require her to come out of hiding. It’s only a matter of time before she’s found – Whether by me or someone else, I’ll ensure the results stay the same, but I won’t lie and say that I’m feeling particularly patient right now.”

Akira rests his eyes on the houseplant sitting diligently in the light by the kitchen window, its leaves waxy and green. He bought it for Akechi in attempt to add a little bit of personality to the blasé apartment, expecting it to be dead within the month. Now, two years later, it’s overflowing a planter three times the size it originally came in and has cuttings growing in every window next to other plants Akira has shimmied Akechi’s way.

He plucks at the vine of guilt entwining his heart.

 “What information does she have?” Akira asks. “Are you investigating the, uh, those old rumors about working conditions?”

“Yes and no. While somewhat related, the information I’m interested in is regarding something else I’ve been working on for years. Longer than we’ve known each other.” Akechi says, leaning back in his chair and clicking a nail against the arm rest. He studies Akira’s face as if to commit it to memory. “I’d tell you more, but –” He sighs, pushes back his chair, and stands up. “It’s extremely personal.”

The last bit of food on Akira’s plate loses its appeal.

Akechi continues, “Not that I don’t want to tell you. I’m _unprepared_ – I suppose you can say, to show you that side of myself.” He runs a hand across the back of his neck, fingernails leaving faint lines that pattern his skin in long arcs. He smiles crookedly. “Before we met, I –” He catches himself, pulling his earlobe. “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. I didn’t have the means or the leverage to attempt anything back then, thankfully. But _now_ – Once I’ve settled things with this case, I think everything in my life will finally fall into place in the best possible way for me.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” Akechi confirms with a little more confidence, some of his usual bravado shining through. He grabs both of their plates and brings them to the sink. “Ah, I should retract that statement. It’d be more accurate to say _almost_ everything.”

Akira laughs, a breezy sound that gets lost in the space between them. Hooking his arm around the back of the chair, he asks, “Is something else in your life giving you trouble, Detective Akechi?”

Akechi grins, cheeky and suddenly _far_ too sure of himself as he scrubs the dishes. The morning light catches his hair, revealing the stray hints of sparkling bronze that usually lie dormant beneath a thin layer of mute ash brown.  “I’m working on it. Give me just a little more time.”

 

 

Akechi falls asleep on the couch during the morning news, his neck at an angle that would give him hell for days if Akira wasn’t around to shove a pillow under the moron’s head. He denies feeling sick after he wakes up for the second time that morning but accepts the aspirin and water he’s handed anyways.

His university class is declined the privilege of his attendance, Akechi citing ‘important business’ he needs to attend to _immediately_ as he flicks through the channels on TV, throwing the remote aside and pulling a blanket over himself when he comes across My Neighbor Totoro. Akira discovers the noted ‘important business’ that needed to be attended to _immediately_ (…two hours ago) happens to be located within the area of Yongen-Jaya when Akechi follows him home explaining that he wouldn’t mind a good cup of coffee to get him started on his busy day.

“Where’s Mona? Did Futaba steal him?” Is the first thing Akira asks after stepping into the café, the bell jingling overhead as the door swings into it. Akechi greets Sojiro properly while Akira checks under the chairs.

“Hello to you, too.” Sojiro drawls, exchanging glances with Akechi. He straightens his apron over his pastel pink shirt. “Futaba went to school today and I haven’t seen your cat. I thought you had him.”

Akira closes the curtains after confirming Morgana isn’t behind them.

“The little traitor must be out looking for Ann again.” Akira says under his breath, throwing his bag on one of the tables.

“I take it the two of you have gotten over whatever happened?” Sojiro asks Akechi, gesturing between the two of them.

Akechi smiles awkwardly, resting a hand under his chin. “Ah, well, you see –”

“Nothing happened.” Akira interrupts, shaking some cat treats just in case Morgana was hiding somewhere. “I’ve been pulling a few extra jobs this month and Goro had a meltdown without my perpetual emotional support.”

“You’ve been avoiding me for some reason you’ve yet to explain.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Akira points at him, offering nothing to support his words.

Akechi pulls out his phone and opens their message log because he always has something to support _his_ words. “Emoji.” He states, relaying his frequent attempts at communication and Akira’s creative and inspiring responses. “ _More_ emoji.” He says, scrolling further and further up. “Oh, look. _More emoji_.”

Akira grabs Akechi’s phone and places it face down on the counter. He puts on his best disappointed face. “I’m only sorry that you have yet to open your heart to the brilliant nuances of modern art. A single image holds more information and meaning than I could possibly attempt to explain with mere words. I incorrectly thought you’d be able to understand.”

Unimpressed, Akechi retakes his phone and says, “So when I asked for some essay topic suggestions and you replied with…” He double checks the screen. “…an icon of a hamburger.” He raises his brows and shows Akira the burger to further his point. “What great wisdom were you trying to share with me here?”

Akira takes a step back. “That maybe you shouldn’t be asking a poor, dumb juvenile delinquent about what to write for a class that’s preparing you for a fulfilling career as a wealthy white-collar criminal?”

Akechi throws his hands up in defeat and takes a seat. “Hurry and change your clothes. I need your expertise in delinquency today.”

“Wait, you really had something to do out here? I thought you were just being clingy.” Akira narrowly avoids the pen thrown at him like world’s least deadly javelin, but not the cork coaster that hits him in the jugular. Akira walks backwards up the stairs, hand protectively covering his throat. “I’ll remember this.” He warns, keeping a defensive eye on watch for more projectiles.

When he’s fully behind the wall, he jogs up the rest of the stairs before chucking off his shoes and creeping back down to the bottom.

“ – always obnoxious when he’s anxious about something.” Akechi’s saying when Akira reaches the last step.

“Only with you.” Sojiro teases. “He’s been quiet as usual on my side of things. Maybe a little quieter than usual, but he still helps with the café and with Futaba’s homework.”

Akechi mutters something, but Akira can’t make out the words.

“You’re not going about it the right way.” Sojiro says over the sound of the coffee grinder, a clatter of porcelain. “It shouldn’t be news that the two of you aren’t the best conversationalists. The kid doesn’t know how to talk about himself without thinking he’s self-absorbed, and you _are_ self-absorbed and look at every situation like it’s something you can poke and prod at until it goes your way.” A laugh. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m just offering my humble opinion. Akira’s a simple guy when it comes down to it. Be direct with him or he’ll never get a clue. You should know this by now.”

“But what if –”

Akira crawls back upstairs before they notice he’s taking longer than he should.

 

 

They’re standing outside someone’s door on the second floor of an apartment building that smells like someone dropped multiple bottles of perfume on the floor. The entire floor. Maybe splashed a bit on the walls and in the vents, too.

The numbers on the door are barely recognizable, painted over in the same antique white as the door itself, and the doorbell seems to have been, ah – manually deactivated, going by what appears to be knife marks gouging the wall around the panel and the fact that the whole thing falls right off when pressed, revealing a mess of disconnected wires.

Akira carefully sticks the thing back on the wall and backs away while Akechi knocks on the door.

…And then knocks again with a little more urgency.

Akechi checks his phone and rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm. “We’ll have to try again later. I was told he’d be home around this time, but it seems like my source was wrong.”

Akira shrugs, still not up to date on what they were even doing out there, because Akechi is an asshole who wouldn’t know straightforward if it were lined by traffic cones and barbwire fence. “Who lives here, anyways?”

Akechi doesn’t seem to have any intention of answering as he taps his chin in thought.

“Hey, no way – Akira is that you?” A familiar voice shouts back from where the elevators are, footsteps hurrying into a jog as they turn around. Takamaki Ann slides to a halt before crashing into Akira, loose blonde hair spilling over a red leather jacket as she grabs his hands and beams, bouncing on her feet with the energy of a puppy who just escaped its leash. “What are you doing here? And where’s Mona-mona?” She asks, looking around for Akira’s usual partner.

“He’s out pretending he’s a street cat today, I guess.” Akira says, eyeing the fluorescent lighting overhead with suspicion as the lights flicker on and off like something out of a horror movie.

“That’s too bad, I haven’t seen him for a while.” She pauses. “I haven’t seen _you_ in a while!” She realizes, slapping his shoulder. He flinches back, pretending it hurt. “We were supposed to go shopping together last week!”

“Sorry, sorry. Been busy. We can go shopping another time.” Akira says, rubbing his arms, wondering where the sudden drop in temperature came from.

“But wait a sec – what are you doing here? I don’t think you’ve ever been to my place before.” She sticks out a hip and taps a finger against a painted lip as she thinks, a pose idly reminiscent of Akechi when he has something on his mind. And, oops, that’s right –

A throat clears in a way that tells Akira he’s about two seconds away from being arrested for crimes of not paying attention to his nearest Akechi, who can and will _literally die_ without it.

Akira glances back at his ever-so-patient friend who calmly awaits an introduction. He’s eyeing Ann like she’d look better in a jail cell.

“Right, uh – this is – wait. You live here?” He asks, pointing at the door they’ve been staring at for a solid five minutes.

“Yup!” Ann confirms.

Akechi’s takes a step forward. “You must be –” He glances down at his phone to give the impression that he didn’t have the names of everyone living in the apartment already memorized. “Takamaki Ann?” He asks. “Or Suzui Shiho?”

Ann startles like Akechi appeared from the void itself, rolling back on her heels. Her _high heels_. She almost tips over. “Just Ann is fine. You must be –” She glances at Akira before her eyes widen and lock back onto Akechi. “You’re Akechi Goro, aren’t you?”

“I am. I take it you’ve heard of me?” Akechi asks, smiling amiably while moving closer, brushing his arm against Akira’s. Ann does not miss this gesture.

“I’ve seen you on TV a few times. And one of the photographers I’ve been working with lately told me they’ve been trying to get you in a shoot but haven’t had any luck.” Ann says through a grin.

Akechi laughs. “Aha – I’m afraid I’m far too busy with school and work to waste my time on frivolities.”

Not only is that a backhanded insult at Ann’s choice of career, it is an incredible lie. Frivolities are Akechi’s specialty, especially when they might increase his popularity.

Akira elbows him in the ribs to no effect.

“That’s too bad. Maybe when school’s on break you can think about it?” Ann says, crossing her arms and tugging at a strand of hair, the insult thankfully flying over her head and out the window. “And you –” She jabs her finger at Akira. “You didn’t tell me your _friend_ was _Akechi Goro_.”

And Akira was never going to, because he has said a whole lot of things about his _friend_ that Akechi can never know. Ever. _Never ever._

“If I may ask how the two of you know each other?” Akechi asks the question that’s been eating at him ever since Ann acknowledged Akira’s existence.

Ann winks and strikes a pose, kicking out a long leg and holding her hands up in fists. “We take kickboxing classes together! Or we did, until Akira dipped out.”

“Hey, classes aren’t cheap. And I haven’t had much time to go to the gym lately.”  

“I _bet_ you were busy.” She says, eying Akechi like he was the newest tabloid news. Akira has a bad feeling. He almost always has a bad feeling, because chronic anxiety was a thing, but this was a particularly _bad feeling_. “Or _getting_ bus –”

Akira pushes Ann towards the door. “You know, how about we all catch up inside? We’re here for a reason after all, aren’t we? Goro?” He says at a volume loud enough to cover up any words that might still escape her mouth.

“Ah, that’s right. We’re here to see one of your roommates, Sakamoto Ryuji, but he doesn’t seem to be home.” Akechi says, back to business with a bright smile.

“Ryuji? He’s home.” Ann says, looking at the door in front of her, but not moving to unlock it.

“No one answered the door…” Akira explains, knocking a few more times.

Ann huffs and purses her lips. “Gimme _one_ minute.” Ann says before taking a deep breath. “RYUJI, OPEN THE DOOR!” She shouts, annunciating each word with a strike of her fist against solid wood, kicking a few times for good measure. Going by the scuff marks on the door, this is not an unusual occurrence.

The door rips open a few seconds later, revealing a blonde guy with some obvious black roots sprouting out of his head and a large headset hanging around his neck. He looks out into the hall like he expects to find a murder scene.

“Ann? What the hell? I thought there was a fight or somethin’. Why didn’t you open the door?” He asks. Akira can hear gunshots and explosions from the headset.

“I left my keys here.” Ann says, pushing past him and kicking off her shoes in a hurry.

“Why didn’t you message me?”

“I left my phone in my room, too! I came back to get it.”

“You didn’t even lock the door when you left, so you coulda just walked in, anyways.” Ryuji sighs, scratching his head. He jerks a thumb at Akechi and Akira standing in the door. “Who’re they?”  He asks, but Ann’s already running around a corner.

Akechi takes the opportunity to assert his dominance and stride past Ryuji into the apartment, stepping carefully over Ann’s abandoned heels. Noticing his discomfort, Ryuji gestures Akira inside after sending Akechi a miffed glare.

“Thanks.” Akira says, taking his shoes off and placing them neatly by the other pairs lined by the door. “Sorry about him, he’s usually polite to people he doesn’t know, but he went out drinking for the first time last night and kind of overdid it.”

Ryuji is an understanding man, and his expression immediately lightens as he grins and nods in comprehension. “No worries, dude. Are you guys Ann’s friends?”

“I’m here for you, actually.” Akechi announces, ignoring their exchange about his misadventures with alcohol.

“Whoa, hey, look – thanks, but I’m really not into –”

“Here to talk to you about the string of _thefts_ that have been happening in the area.” Akechi says, holding out his badge. “Detective Akechi Goro.”

“Oh. Ooh, wait – hold up – you don’t think _I’m_ the one stealin’ shit? Did someone accuse me of somethin’? It was that little punk Shinya, wasn’t it? That little asshole, jus ‘cuz I stopped playin’ Destiny 2 with the cheating little –”

“No. No one’s accused you of –”

“And then when I told him I was tryin’ out Fortnite he wouldn’t shut up about how it was a game for casuals and that I should play PUBG instead – like who cares? The game is fun as hell. Then he kept ringing the doorbell and running away in the middle of the night – and of course he’s the landlady’s kid so I couldn’t even _say_ anything about it.”

Akechi looks about ready to crawl back into bed.

“I think he’s just here to ask about what you know?” Akira says while Akechi massages his temples.

“Oh.” Ryuji says. “Well, yeah. I’ve heard a few things about it.”

“I was told you may have been a victim yourself?” Akechi asks.  

“Well –”

“That would be me.” Ann says, back from her room, phone in hand. And in an entirely new outfit. No one asks. She smooths out a pleated skirt over her thigh-highs. “I thought I was misplacing my jewelry at first, but then I noticed I’ve been losing things that I haven’t worn in _years_. I talked to Shiho about it and we don’t know if its related, but she’s been losing a lot of her hair clips. The glittery ones. Pretty much anything shiny has been going missing in this place for the past few weeks, maybe longer.”

“I’ve lost a couple of rings, too.” Ryuji adds. “I’ve talked to some other people in the building and it sounds like a lot of people have been losing things.

Ann slides over next to Ryuji with a frown. “The weirdest thing is that my money never gets stolen.”

Akechi scrolls through something on his phone. “Yes, that’s in line with what has been reported to the police so far.”

“People have really called the cops over this?” Ryuji asks, lowering the volume on his headset when someone starts shouting in their mic.

“There have been an unusual number of reports throughout the neighborhood and a few surrounding areas. Usually there’s not much to be done about these situations other than check the building’s surveillance cameras and ask about any suspicious activity, but the sheer number of people claiming to have items stolen has piqued my interest. You can say that I’m looking into this out of curiosity rather than obligation.”

Akira thinks that Akechi is just criminally bored and needed a convenient reason to drag Akira around the neighborhood because he doesn’t know how to do things like a normal person.

“That reminds me,” Akechi continues, “Akira, you live in the area. Has anything of yours gone missing within the past few months? You never lock your window, so I’d imagine you’d be an easy target.”

It wouldn’t matter if he locked his window because he’s certain that Morgana must have been Houdini in another life. “Mona keeps stealing my pencils and candy wrappers and dragging them under the bed. If you could arrest him, I’d appreciate it.”

Ann raises her hand. “I could put him under house arrest for you.” She volunteers.

“You already stole him once and he’s never been the same. I’m separating you two forever.”

“You can’t stop true love.” Ann whispers.

Ryuji groans. “That cat was _yours_? Dude, he attacked me and shredded my leg to ribbons when Ann had him that one night.”

“He did not.” Ann refutes. “He climbed up your jeans and you started crying because a few of his claws snagged you.”

“It _hurt_.”

“He was trying to be your friend.”

“He can be my friend from a distance. I like dogs.”

Akechi turns back to Akira. “I think we’ve heard about all we’re going to hear.” He says.

“But you haven’t asked us any questions!” Ann loops her arm around Ryuji’s. 

“True, a few questions wouldn’t hurt.” He takes up the posture of a professional and asks, eloquently, “Are either of you in the habit of leaving doors and windows unlocked?” A mute second passes before Ryuji points at Ann and Ann points at herself. “I’d suggest working on that. Maybe you should also consider buying security bars for your windows and changing your locks.”

Ann bites her lip. “I guess this is kind of my fault, isn’t it?”

“At least they didn’t take anything important.” Ryuji consoles.

“I lost a couple of nice pearl earrings and a few necklaces.” Ann sulks.

“Unless there’s anything else you can think of, there are a few more people I was planning on talking to today.” Akechi says.

“I’ve got a question. You said you guys check surveillance cameras and that there’ve been a lot of reports of theft – but you haven’t caught the guy on camera yet? Is it some kinda phantom thief or somethin’?”

Akechi laughs. “That would be exciting, wouldn’t it? It’s possible that someone has caught the thief on camera, but because people have been for the most part unable to give the exact dates or times their items were taken, it would take a tremendous amount of effort to sort through months of footage, looking for who knows what.”

“I have a question.” Ann adds. “Is Akira your sidekick?”

Akechi snorts. “You can call him my consultant on this job. He has extensive experience with petty theft.”

“I what now? I’m not a thief.”

“Please explain the disappearance of my protein bars over the past year.”

“I have never stolen your protein bars.”

That’s a lie. Akira always stuffs his bag full of them when he visits. There’s one in his pocket right now.

“And my signed Featherman collector’s edition Blu-ray boxset?”

“I don’t have your stupid DVDs.” Akira says.

That isn’t a lie. Akira doesn’t have them.

Futaba does.

Akira simply handled the acquisition.

“They’re not DVDs, they’re – nevermind. I don’t believe you. When I find them –”

“You won’t.” Akira waves off.

Akechi’s eyes narrow and he straightens his shoulders, preparing a retort when he remembers he’s supposed to be playing detective today. He manages to dig his professional face back from somewhere up his ass and turns back to the people he’s supposed to be questioning. “If there’s nothing else you can tell me –”

Ann jumps at the opportunity. “Wait, I know someone in the area who lost some costume jewelry recently, but his wallet wasn’t touched. His studio doesn’t have security cameras, but I’m pretty sure the stores next door do?”

Which is how they find themselves at the mercy of Kitagawa Yusuke.

 

 

“Wow, you’d never guess Akechi-kun was ripped underneath the cardigan.” Ann observes from the behind an easel at Oinari Art Studio, occupied by a class of fourteen plus Akira, instructed by Akira’s newest favorite person, and most importantly – featuring Akechi Goro as the day’s subject.

A shirtless Akechi Goro.

He staunchly refused to take off his pants, much to the entire class’s dismay.

“Shoulders back.” Yusuke orders when Akechi’s bad posture creeps in after a few minutes of staring blankly into the eyeless sockets of a plastic skull in the good ol’ hamlet pose.

Akechi laughs an apology, but Akira can see the manic rage boiling behind his eyes as he plots revenge to compensate for his current humiliation.

“Like – for real, is that an _eight-pack?_ ” Ann whispers, sketching his abs with loving detail, if without much skill. Or any skill at all. The abs could easily be mistaken for a collection of uneven parentheses.

“Mhm.” Akira says from next to her, enjoying the view. Akechi, despite his love for showing off, is a complete prude when it comes to exposing skin anywhere that isn’t a beach, swimming pool, or bathhouse – so this is a rare treat that Akira is going to savor.

 And probably ruin him forever.

His month of careful avoidance – ruined by one missing shirt.

“And those low-rise pants –”

“Yup.”

“And you couldn’t really see it before with his hair down, but that _jaw line_ –”

“Uh huh.”

“He went from cute cardigan nerd to fun one-night stand material in under a minute. He knows how this game works.”

“Wow, Ann.”

“I think I’m getting why you’ve been pining after him for years. I mean, I thought it was cute when you’d talk about him at the gym, but now that I’ve seen him in person –”

“Takamaki-san, remember to finish establishing basic proportions before progressing to detail.” Akira’s new hero says as he circles the room, checking everyone’s progress.

Ann _eeps_ and accidentally snaps the thin piece of charcoal between her fingers.

“Why _are_ you taking art classes?” Akira asks Ann when the savior of his soul continues making his rounds.

“My birthday was last month – which you missed, by the way, you owe me a present – and Shiho thought it would be a good joke gift because of how we met.” Ann explains, forgoing Akechi’s parentheses abs to finish sketching out limbs and extremities in disproportionate swooping lines.

“Shiho’s your roommate too, right?”

“Yep! Me, Ryuji, and Shiho all live together. We’ve been inseparable since high school. We went through some… bad times, I guess – but we were always there for each other. Kind of like you and Akechi-kun.” She eyes him when he doesn’t speak up. “Though I guess it’s a little different. Why haven’t you asked him out yet?”

Akira’s jaw tenses as he looks toward the ground. “He’s my best friend. I don’t want things to change.”

“Haven’t things already changed?”

Akira doesn’t answer, turning his head back towards the center of attention.

Akechi’s looking right at him.

 

 

It’s after the students have left and Akechi’s shirt has been returned that Akira finds himself stranded and alone amidst three of the most beautiful people he’s ever met. He checks his reflection and glowers at his unkempt hair and wrinkled shirt. A coffee stain he wasn’t aware of blossoms from the middle of his stomach in a faded patch of caramel. He zips his jacket all the way up and pulls the hoodie over his head.

“Thank you for substituting in as the model. Your generosity will not be forgotten.” Yusuke says. “For a worrying moment, I was certain I’d have to model myself.”

“Please, don’t thank me.” Akechi says, far too earnestly. “Now if we could _please_ –”

“I truly cannot make my gratitude clear enough – If you’d like compensation, I can give you a discount on any course we offer, or if you’re interested in modelling again –”

“No, thank you –”

“- we may be able to schedule you for regular work, although our figure study classes typically require our models to be fully undressed. It’s rare we find models with a physique such as yourself, although as an associate of Takamaki-san, I suppose I should have expected –”

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m already quite busy enough with a full-time job and university.” Akechi says, talking over Yusuke.

Yusuke’s mouth clamps shut, and he whips his head in a well-practiced motion that sends his fringe back into place. “A pity.” He says. “I’ll admit, with your arrival I was hoping for a chance to get a few studies in myself this session, however – this is a particularly new class, requiring more personal attention than I’m accustomed to.”

Akira thought that _maybe_ the class was supposed to be for abstract art and was withholding judgement the whole time, but apparently he could have judged away the whole time.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions about the recent theft in your studio.” Akechi tries to get to business.

“Yes, that’s right – you did say you were a detective. I wasn’t aware that anyone reported the loss.”

Ann peeks around the oversized sketchbook she was concentrating on. “I told him, Kitagawa-kun. It’s connected to the other thefts that have been happening in the area.”

“It _might_ be connected.” Akechi corrects, tugging his hair out of the band. It falls perfectly above his shoulders. “That has yet to be determined.”

“I’m afraid the information I have will be insufficient. I was working on a personal piece late into the night and left the jewelry I was using for reference on my desk. They were gone when I returned in the morning. I was the one who locked the studio and opened it again in the morning, so I’m certain it couldn’t have been one of my coworkers.”

“I see. And Takamaki-san mentioned something about a wallet?”

“Ah, yes. That was the most unusual part. I’d forgotten my wallet on my desk as well that night, but it went untouched. I’d recently withdrawn a decent amount of money, but the thief seemed to be interested purely in rhinestones and gold-plated nickel.”

“When did the theft occur?” Akechi asks.

“Friday night. I left the building at approximately ten at night and returned at six in the morning.”

Akechi walks over to a messy desk tucked away in the corner of the room. “Is this the desk you were referring to?” He asks, jabbing a finger at the wobbly plywood, the laminate long since stripped off and covered in splatters of paint. Yusuke nods an affirmative. Akechi’s eyes graze over the desk and land on the tall windows lining the wall next to it. “Mirrored windows, no blinds – would be easy to see inside at night.” He murmurs, looking up. “Do you remember whether or not you locked the windows that night?” He asks, pointing at the top of the paneled windows, the top panel propped open to let in some fresh air. Or to let the bad air out. Akira is starting to feel vaguely light headed.

Yusuke closes his eyes and crosses his arms in a gesture that Akira interprets as Yusuke knowing the answer and being unwilling to admit his error. He looks up suddenly and snaps his fingers.

“I did not.” Yusuke admits with a smile Akira often sees on Akechi’s face when he figures something out that Akira did _not_ want him to figure out. Like his maths scores. Or that his glasses are fake. Or that he likes to sing loudly and terribly into the ladle at Leblanc when it’s empty.

When it’s _supposed_ to be empty.

“However,” Yusuke continues, arms spread out as he shakes his head. “Only the top panels can be opened, and as you can see – they are much too small for someone to squeeze in through.”

“You’d be surprised at what some people are capable of.” Akechi says, rubbing his chin as he looks out the window. He spins back around, eyes glistening in the sunlight. “Akira, what do you think?”

Akira hurriedly swallows the protein bar he was munching on, shoving the rest of it back in his pocket. “What I think –” He coughs. “I think there was definitely a theft here. Yeah. A theft of the breaking and entering variety. Or the crawling in through the window variety.” Is it still _breaking_ and entering if the window was already open? Akira doesn’t know. The only thing he knows about laws is that he doesn’t like them very much.

“Can you tell me anything we haven’t already covered?” Akechi tries again.

Akira nods and thinks. “Okay, yeah. Did you know that hippos have red sweat?”

Akechi blinks. And then blinks again. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Fascinating.” Yusuke says.

Inspired, Akira continues. “And butterflies like to drink blood.”

Yusuke seems taken aback. “Surely, you jest?”

“And the scientific name for a gorilla is _gorilla gorilla_. And –”

“Alright, _thank you_ for that.” Akechi interrupts and gestures to the window. “But I was referring to the _current situation_. Kitagawa-san is certain that someone would be unable to crawl in through the top panel of the window, I’d like to hear your opinion.”

And Akira has known Akechi long enough to know this is a setup for one of two things. Akira can answer correctly and get slathered with annoying honeyed compliments or he can answer wrong and get a fresh dosage of patronizing ‘intellect’ from the Detective Prince on his very high horse.

“Is there a ladder in here?” Akira asks instead.

He discovers there is no possible way for a grown human to get in through the window. Akira doesn’t even _try_ getting his head through, despite Ann’s encouragements, because he doesn’t want to end up as that one guy who got his head stuck in a window and had to be cut out by the fire department.

“A kid could probably fit.” Akira calls down, sitting down on the top step. “A small kid.” Akira makes vague shapes with his hands.

“Hm.” Is all Akechi has to say, eyes darting between the window and the crooked tapestry hanging on the wall behind the desk. “And the building next door to this room is an electronics store?” He asks.

“A repair shop, yes.” Yusuke confirms.

“Let’s have a quick talk with the owner.”

 

 

The owner of the shop is a jittery man who slams his laptop shut the second he sees Akechi walk in through the door. He runs a hand through what’s left of his hair and smiles the smile of everyone everywhere who didn’t want to smile but had to anyway.

He does have security cameras. He does have footage from the night of the theft. He _doesn’t_ have footage of the alley between their buildings, but he does of both the front and the back entrances to it.

“So, unless our perp climbed up and down the roof, there’s a chance we have them on camera.” Ann says, really getting into the detective side of things.

“If they really did get in through the window.” Akechi amends and asks for a copy of the footage between the eight hours the art studio was unoccupied. “Akira and I will go over the footage tonight.”

“Wait, you’re not going to check it out now?” Ann asks. “But the thief is on there!”

“Potentially, yes. But it will take a fair bit of time to check the footage from both cameras and I still have a few more people I’d like to question before the day is over.”

Ann deflates, her eyes losing their luster like someone just pulled the drain from a very blue pool.

“I’ll let you know if we find anything.” Akira offers tiredly, quietly accepting Akechi’s monopolization of his time.

“The only thing I care about _you_ finding is some –”

Akira grabs her shoulders and pushes her back and out of the shop, knowing her well enough to predict _exactly_ what she was going to say in some terrible mockery of what she considers _‘relationship help’._  

“You both need to get a clue.” She says when they’re safely out the door and out of earshot, waving a jaunty farewell with a wink and the harsh click of stiletto heels against the sidewalk as she skips back over to the art studio, one of her red stockings slipping below her knee.

“I think I like her.” Akechi says from the door.

Akira frowns and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the flare of frustration that’s been building all day. “What happened to the guy you liked? Forget about him already?”

Akechi walks the opposite direction Ann went. “While I know you’re aware I didn’t mean it like that – the answer to your question is no, I haven’t forgotten. But he seems to be doing quite well at forgetting me.”

“You asked him out?” Akira asks, pushing down the bitterness because he was all too aware of how rejection felt. Quietly, he adds, “He turned you down?”

Akechi turns slowly towards Akira like a door on a rusty hinge. “Akira, may I ask who exactly you think I’m referring to right now?”

“You never said.” Akira says, because it was fucking _true_. Akechi slammed him with the information that he liked _someone_ and then took off like a demon confronted by a crucifix and a splash of holy water when Akira offered him his support.

“I never said.” Akechi echoes. “I never _said_? A month ago I –” He stops, mouth ajar as his eyes go wide in horror. “Did you think I was talking about –” He slaps a palm to his forehead and drags it down over his eyes. “Of course. I see now. I really didn’t say, did I? It seems like Sojiro-san was right, after all.”

Akira has enough questions that he’s sure the question mark is visibly manifesting over his head like an undiscovered quest npc. “Right about what?”

Akechi laughs breathlessly and takes a step. “I’ll tell you another time. Let’s go home and fast forward through sixteen hours’ worth of footage between two cameras.”

“…I thought you had someone else to see first?”

Akechi brushes his hair back. “I don’t really feel the need to listen to yet another story about unlocked windows and missing rings. If there’s nothing on this footage, I’ll consider making a few more calls.”

“You don’t seem very invested in this case.” Akira voices.

Akechi smiles and side eyes him. “Thieves always get overconfident. Even if I do nothing, time is on my side.”

“Sure, but in that time more people are going to lose their stuff.”

“Very true. Which is why I _am_ trying to solve it, even if it’s not my usual flavor.”

“Yeah, you’re more of the murder and mayhem flavor.”

“Ha ha.” Akechi laughs the ultimate not-laugh. His phone buzzes from his pocket. “Ah, Kitagawa-san sent me the photos of the missing jewelry.” He raises a brow. “Huh. These pictures might honestly be helpful. If the thief is selling items at a pawn shop, something like this would certainly be recognizable. We might be able to track these down and get a description of the thief.”

Akira takes a peek and nearly chokes on his own spit. “Wow, yeah. That’s – uh, unmistakable.”

There really aren’t a lot of people running around wearing scarab beetle pendants and gaudy gold bangles.

“Let’s head back to Leblanc, maybe Sojiro-san will have some curry ready for us.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Akira says, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Do we really have to watch the footage?”

“The cameras weren’t motion activated, so yes, I’m afraid we’re going to be occupied for a while.”

“No, I mean – you said it yourself, it’s only a matter of time before the thief gets caught. Why not just – let it happen?” Akira tries.

There _really_ aren’t a lot of people wearing that kind of jewelry at all.

Akechi eyes him curiously, like he’s a novelty item at a gift shop or a book written in reverse. “We’ve come this far, there’s no turning back now. I don’t like leaving a job half finished.”

“…Right.” Akira says.

And Akira really can’t emphasize enough that there _really aren’t a lot of people wearing Egyptian themed jewelry_ running around.

But there is _one_.

 

 

Akira’s stress flatlines into a dull stupor after 30 minutes of watching a poorly lit sidewalk exist. And exist. And continue to exist some more. Yongen-Jaya doesn’t have much of a night life to begin with and this particular batch of sidewalk seems to take repelling excitement as its civic duty. He sets the video to run a little bit faster.

“Ah.” Akechi says, sitting up from where he was slouched over on Akira, half lidded eyes trained on his laptop. “Ah.” He says again, but with disappointment. “Just a cat.” He resumes both his video and his slouching.

Akira looks back at his TV, wishing he had a cat to look at. Wishing he had _anything_ to look at. Wishing that he’s wrong and they’re not going to discover that Futaba has taken up the nighttime hobby of crawling through people’s windows and taking their jewelry. If this was some sort of self-treatment for getting over her slowly diminishing agoraphobia, Akira really needs to have a chat with her.

“Oh – maybe this – Ah. Just a cat again.” Akechi says through a yawn.

On Akira’s TV, the streetlight in front of the repair shop flickers.

“What is going on with the cats in this neighborhood…” Akechi says through yet another yawn, sinking down further into the couch, his head pressed into Akira’s arm.

Akira looks at the laptop in time to see the cat as it gallops around the shop corner and out of view.

“Wait, Goro, go back.” Akira says. “Pause the video on the cat.”

“I know you like cats, Akira, but really –”

Akira grabs the laptop and rewinds it himself. “That’s Morgana.”

“It does look like Morgana, doesn’t it?” Akechi muses.

“No – no, no. I mean, the cat in this video _is_ _Morgana_.”

“Morgana, as wonderful as he is, hardly has an uncommon appearance. This could be any cat.” Akechi explains with the patience of a saint not well known for his patience.

“He’s _my_ cat.” Akira insists. “Look, you can kind of see his bandana and – what’s that? How do you zoom in?”

“This software uses voice commands. Order it to enhance.”

Akira doesn’t trust a lot of the things that come out of Akechi’s mouth and even less so when he’s tired and more likely to lie for the fun of it. Akira ignores him and finds the zoom button on his own.

It’s hard to tell due to the general low quality of the video and the lack of decent lighting, but Morgana seems to be toting something around between his two pointy rows of teeth.

“Is that a pencil?” Akechi asks.

“No.” Akira says, “No, that’s a _calligraphy brush_.”

 

 

 

Akira sneaks into Futaba’s room with all the subtlety of a battering ram at the beginning of a siege.

“HEY. What did I say about blasting through the door without knocking first?” Futaba says after spinning around in her desk chair, orange hair piled up on her head in the worst rat’s nest Akira’s ever seen while clutching her chest like she’s a character from one of the Alien movies and is about to introduce them to a brand-new species.

A gold-plated bangle hangs from a dainty wrist.

“You didn’t.” Akira tells her, and then looks around the room. “Where’s my cat?”

Futaba takes a few deep breaths before spotting Akechi behind Akira. “Oh, hey there, boyfriend-kun.”

“Not a boyfriend yet, but almost.” Akechi greets her back. Akira would usually spend twelve hours and write two essays in attempt to decipher what that meant, but he’s on a mission.

“Yes, yes. I know all about your troubles. I am all seeing.” Futaba does a thing with her hands that she probably thinks looks mystical but really only looks like she’s trying to swim outside of water with only a vague idea of what swimming looks like.

“Great, then you should know where Morgana is.” Akira says.

“Except for that.” Futaba declares, flicking her hand in the air like she’s swatting a fly. “Mona-mona’s power transcends even mine and is thus immune to my powerful power of detection.”

Akira shakes the cat treats he brought with him. A rumbling sound comes from the closet and Morgana jumps out from the crack in the door.

Futaba crosses her legs. “Aw, busted. Mona, we could have had it all, but your desire for salmon flavored carboard is too strong.”

“Where’s the stuff?” Akira asks.

“Stuff? What stuff?” Futaba asks back, spinning back around to her computer screen, fingers poised over the keyboard. “I have no stuff that would be of interest to commoners like you.”

Akechi moves in past Akira and towards the shelf next to Futaba, stepping over what looks like a miniature nuclear warhead on the floor. “Is that my signed Blu-ray boxset?”

“No.” Akira and Futaba answer simultaneously.

Akechi holds it protectively against his chest, eyes narrowed.

Akira picks up Morgana, letting him climb up his shoulder. “So, you say there’s no stuff.”

“None, whatsoever. Don’t even know what you’re talking about. And I have to study now, cuz y’noe – exams, so maybe –” Futaba rambles on, fingers clacking away at an extra keyboard that wasn’t connected to a computer. Akira slides the closet door all the way open and a mountain of shiny junk topples to the floor at his feet. “Oh, that stuff. Should have been more specific, number 28.”

Akechi picks up a necklace from the pile. “Futaba-chan, would you mind explaining why your closet is filled with a small department store’s worth of jewelry?”

“My closet contains a one-way portal from El Dorado. Those are offerings to me, their god.” She says. Akechi regards her with a grim smile. “No? Okay, fine. It started out with pencils.” Futaba says, pointing at Morgana. “You guys know how Mona is, he likes collecting stuff.”

“Are seriously trying to say that _Morgana_ is responsible for this?” Akechi asks, standing up with a handful of cheap jewelry dangling from his fingers.

“I have trouble convincing myself to leave my room most days, do you really think I’m going around sneaking into other people’s houses?” She shivers at the thought, bringing her knees to her chin. “I thought he was finding stuff people dropped at first, but well –” She waves her arms at the treasure trove. “He’s been leaving stuff under your bed too, Akira, but I’ve been bringing it back here when you’re at work so you didn’t get in trouble.”

Akira is touched, but more than that he’s having trouble keeping a straight face.

“You believe me, right?” Futaba asks. “Obviously Morgana was a dragon in a past life and his treasure hoarding instincts kicked in.”

Akechi considers her with a gaze that is both slow and serious, a gaze more suited for making decisions that could either save or destroy the world, maybe even determine the fate of a small child or fluffy animal – but from Akira’s personal experience, it’s the gaze of a man on a tight budget calculating which coupon combinations will save him the most money on already discounted cup ramen.

Akechi straightens his shoulders, eyes sharp and hair perfectly in place, illuminated by the blue glow of Futaba’s many monitors. He puts a hand on his hip and says, “This is going to be a pain to explain to the precinct.” His shoulders droop, his eyes droop, his _hair_ droops as he lets out a defeated sigh and brings both hands up to cover his face.

Morgana rubs his head against Akira’s and Akira scratches him behind the ears.

“Ah.” Akechi says sudden, eyes catching on one of the pendants hanging from his hand. “No way. This is – this one looks exactly like –” He rushes over to Futaba’s computer, spinning her and her chair out of the way. “This belongs to Okumura Haru – A red beryl pendant worth nine –” He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. Akira would really like him to continue. Better yet, he’d like Akechi to toss that pendant his way for safekeeping. “Yes, this is definitely the one.” He says, bringing up a photograph of –

“ _That’s_ Okumura Haru?” Akira asks. “The one you’ve been looking for? The rich guy’s daughter? The one that has information you need?”

“Yes. If Morgana’s managed to acquire this, that means it’s possible she’s staying with someone nearby. Futaba-chan, do you remember how long you’ve had this pendant?”

Futaba’s still spinning. “Uh.” She says.

“Wait – you’re sure that _that_ person, that person right there on the screen – that’s Okumura Haru?” Akira asks again for confirmation.

Akechi grits his teeth but tries to smile through it. “ _Yes_ , Akira. It is.” He confirms again.

“Because, wow I don’t know how to say this, but –” That’s a lie. Akira knows exactly how to say it, but this might be the best thing to ever happen to him so he’s prolonging it. “She was at the bar last night.”

Akechi stills. “I beg your pardon?” He asks, voice strained, eyes a little more bloodshot.

“Last night. Crossroads bar. She was there.” Akira explains as simply as he can. If Futaba wasn’t still slowly spinning in her chair while munching on some potato chips, Akira could be convinced that time itself went on vacation. He chokes down his laughter. “You were too busy getting wasted to notice the person you’ve been hunting down was a few chairs away from you.”

Akechi seems to have developed a sudden condition of full body paralysis. “You’re lying.” He manages to say in a monotone that would put the most apathetic robot to shame.

“I’m not. She was there with another girl she kept calling Mako-chan.”

Akechi mouths the name, regaining the movement of his eyes as they bounce around in frantic search of _something_.

“I have to go.” He announces suddenly, standing up in a motion reminiscent of a recently reanimated zombie with severe rigor mortis.  He sets his Blu-rays back on the shelf and trips over the mini nuke on his way to the door. It flashes an alarming red and makes a tiny exploding sound. Futaba mimics the noise. “To Crossroads – they have security cameras there, right? I need that footage _now_.”

“What about all the jewelry?” Futaba asks.

Akechi scoffs and straightens his cardigan, smooths away the creases wrinkling his face. Unfortunately, there isn’t much to be done about the bags under his eyes. “I don’t care, keep it. Maybe the idiots in this neighborhood will finally learn how to lock their doors and windows.”

“Sweet.” Futaba says.

“And Akira –” Akechi says, pendant still firmly locked in his grasp. “Tomorrow, we need to talk.” He looks menacing from where he stands halfway in the unlit hall, his usually handsome features both shrouded in darkness and gaunt as a demilich in the limited light of Futaba’s room, red eyes gleaming scarlet like blood from a fresh kill – He coughs and rubs his nose, eyes darting away. It takes a moment for Akira to realize that he’s embarrassed. “It’s important.”

“I’ll be free after classes.” Akira says.

“Wonderful. I,” Akechi stops. “Then we,” He pauses again. “There’s something –” His mouth moves but there’s no sound. Akira taps his ears to make sure they still work. “Be direct.” Akechi hisses at himself before clearing his throat. “Tomorrow, then.” He says, his upper body already gravitating down the hall despite his feet being firmly planted between Futaba’s door frame.

Akira waves, but Akechi’s already gone.

Futaba bites down on another potato chip. “Now what?” She asks.

“I don’t know.” Akira says, feeling a little lost after the whirlwind of the past twenty-four hours.

She snaps her fingers and throws the empty bag of chips on the floor. It floats miserably down to land on top of a fashion magazine. Ann winks up from the cover. “Clean my room for me.” She commands. Akira looks at Morgana, comfortably situated on top of his treasure stash. Futaba snaps her fingers a few more times. “I’ll share the profit with you.” She bargains with the grin of a shark.

Akira’s not sure he has the heart to destroy Morgana’s growing empire.

“What in the _world_ is going on in here?” Sojiro asks from the doorway.

“Aw, busted for _real_.” Futaba says, sinking in her chair.

Akira gets a message on his phone from Akechi – a reminder that they’re meeting tomorrow and that there was absolutely no way out of it. He runs a hand over the back of his neck as Sojiro panics over the small fortune of stolen goods and Futaba creates another elaborate story that no one would ever believe.

Akechi messages him again a minute later, an overly wordy paragraph apologizing for his behavior –

And Akira finally gets a clue.


End file.
